


Better Deal

by inabsurd



Series: bad things happen bingo [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Baddass Pines Family, Filbrick Pines Being A Semi-Decent Dad, Filbrick Pines/Caryn Pines - Freeform, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Kidnapping, Rescue Missions, this title reads like it's about politics But It's Not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23164867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inabsurd/pseuds/inabsurd
Summary: Caryn's no fool and her husband's no liar; she knows his business isn't all legal but she'd always thought that they were the ones coming out on top.
Series: bad things happen bingo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660279
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Better Deal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheBiggerAndBetterArchiteuthis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBiggerAndBetterArchiteuthis/gifts).



> What's this? Another Gravity Falls bthb fic? But that's two in a row!
> 
> I know. I have no regrets.
> 
> REQUESTED BY MY FAVOUWITE PEWSON OWO I HOPE THIS IS OKAY I STRUGGLED WITH THIS PROMPT

The note sits in front of her, smooth, neat, and unassuming. It was neatly folded, neatly sealed, and safely delivered to her house that morning, surely not too long after she’d gone to sleep. The caffeine had kept her up late into the night, and Filbrick's early morning routine had triggered her own long before she'd been ready for it.

She'd gone out in the dim morning light for a cigarette, needing the fresh air and space before the hectic morning routine that always greets her when her boys wake up for the day.

Except, it would seem, that they won't be in the house when she goes back in. She won't hear them squabbling, won't hear Stanford scribbling away in a notebook, or find Stanley sat in front of the television watching cartoons instead of getting his bag ready for school. Caryn won't see them at all because they aren't home.

So she says outside on their porch, staring down at the letter sticking out of their mail-slot where she doesn't have to return to an empty house. Where the world in which her children may not ever come home doesn't exist.

_ Pay up or your boys get it. _

Caryn's no fool and her husband’s no liar; she knows his business isn't all legal but she'd always thought that they were the ones coming out on top.

The letter crumples in her hand, ink smearing where stray tears have fallen and mixed with the ashes from her un-smoked cigarette.

She's storming into the pawnshop in an instant, robe flaring out behind her in her haste. The letter, that damn letter, smacks right into her husband's face, bouching off the sunglasses he almost never takes off.

"Who has them?" she roars, fury and fear and frustration all swirling into a volatile cocktail within her.

Filbrick barely reacts to her presence, taking one long, slow sip of his coffee before leaning over to grab the paper ball that had landed on the floor. He unfolds it with deliberate slowness, smoothing out the edges until it's hardly rumpled at all. Another sip of his coffee and then  _ finally  _ he reads the letter. His face is as impassive as always, but Caryn's learned to read her husband well over the years. The stiffness of his shoulders, the subtle turn of his foot, the way he stares at the letter for far longer than those seven words require all point to a worry that runs far deeper than the barely-there lift of his eyebrows.

"Where did you get this?" he asks, voice ever so slightly lower than usual. He's angry, Caryn realizes, and she can't help but feel soothed by his anger; she's not alone in this.

"It was in the mail-slot. No return address."

Filbrick scoffs, although whether he appreciates her little attempt at humour, she's not sure.

"We don't need the address," and at this, his mouth twitches, something in between and sneer and a smile making its home on his lips, "I already know where to go."

Caryn pauses, considering, "I suppose you would," she reaches forward and steals a sip from her husband's coffee mug. She sighs, long and deep as some peace finally finds her. Her boys are going to be fine, Filbrick will be sure of it. "I'll go get the guns," she says, turning to do just that. Her husband is going to need every weapon at his disposal for whoever took her sons, and Caryn feels no pity for the fury these men are reigning down on themselves.

She makes a quick detour to get dressed before heading to the safe, knowing better than to plan a rescue mission in her sleep-wear. The guns are all exactly where she'd left them, along with the bullets stacked in even piles. Her husband's a bit of a penny-pincher, she'll admit, but ammunition is the one area where Fibrick spares no expense.

Caryn loads each weapon with careful precision, placing each one into a duffle bag as she finishes.

As soon as the bag is loaded, she's back in the kitchen. Filbrick seems to be on his second cup of coffee, but Caryn isn't willing to wait anymore. There was no deadline, no information other than the fact that these people have her children, but she's not willing to risk whoever they are losing patience with her sons; lord knows Stanley drives her crazy on the best of days.

The sets the bag on the kitchen table with a clatter, distracting Filbrick from his morning paper.

"Did you call up the crew already?" she asks impatiently.

Filbrick gestures to his coffee mug, a single eyebrow raising up towards his hairline.

Caryn huffs, "I'll do it, you useless man," she shoots him a half-hearted glare, but her fond smiles gives away her true feelings even as her heart squeezes at the thought of her boys having to wait a minute longer. Caryn reasons that rescues are not instant things, but that does nothing to ease her fear.

She cycles through the phone calls as quickly as she can, dialling up Filbrick's old crew by memory even after so many long years between jobs.

She doesn't remember any of her conversations, doesn't pay attention to much beyond who can make it (Ronald, Leonard, Louis), and who's out of town (Philip, John). In the end, the three who can make it promise to arrive within the next forty minutes for planning, and are due to head out by the early afternoon. 

Caryn smiles tightly, a slew of emotions cycling through her: worry for her boys being the greatest concern, followed by worry for Filbrick, worry for his crew, worry about the life he's about to jump headlong back into to protect their family, and the boiling, righteous anger that simmers just below the surface.

For the next few hours, she'll have to keep the coffee coming, cook up a hearty breakfast for the men who will need their strength, and help strategize in between serving them all up.

She pulls her hair up as she changes out their coffee filter in preparation for the long day ahead, knowing that it will all be worth it when Filbrick walks through those doors at the end of the day.

"Caryn, put a sign up on the pawnshop doors so nobody disturbs us."

She smiles, "I'll get right to it.”

Filbrick certainly won't be making any sales today, but never let it be said that her husband ever walks away without the better deal.

**Author's Note:**

> ̶k̶i̶n̶d̶a̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶w̶r̶i̶t̶e̶ ̶m̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶b̶a̶d̶d̶a̶s̶s̶ ̶P̶i̶n̶e̶s̶ ̶f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶y̶ ̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶o̶o̶p̶s̶
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3


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